Next To Me
by pjstillnoon
Summary: Follow on from "Truth or Consequences". This time, it's personal for Gillian. Very strong T rating for later themes.
1. Chapter 1

Cal barges through Gillian's office door roughly, making the glass tremor under his shove. "Get under the desk," he demands immediately, his voice almost a hush; contradictory. Gillian, startled at first by his abrupt entrance, moves to amused quite quickly. But she doesn't even get to start to ask him what he is going on about before he's at her side; he grabs her by the upper arm, simultaneously pulling on her, tugging her up, and rolling her office chair back from the desk.

"Ow Cal," she exclaims, worried now, by his behaviour.

"Shh," he shushes her harshly. He manages to manhandle her out of her chair with one arm, and she does help him, his other hand is holding his closed laptop. Gillian isn't sure whether she should be mad at him, or, after seeing the fear in his eyes, scared. He shoves her down, by the shoulder, to seriously insist she get under her desk and she obliges, mostly because he seems to be having a psychotic break and her first instinct is to not aggravate him further and get herself hurt further.

Cal gets down beside her, shoving the laptop practically in her face, then reaching for her office chair and pulling it back towards him so it encloses the gap. Gillian, heart pounding despite the ludicrousness, is about to ask him again what the hell he is doing, getting annoyed now, her left upper arm throbbing painfully, when Cal settles next to her, looks over and places a finger against his lips in the universal signal for 'be quiet'. Then he takes the laptop back. Gently, now.

"What is going on?" Gillian asks him anyway, in a harsh whisper. He gives her a glare, then goes back to logging in to the laptop. His fingers are careful against the keys, making as little noise as possible. Gillian is sitting on her feet, her heels digging into her backside and her neck craned right over so it's just about on his shoulder; there is not enough room for two adults to sit under there. Cal seems to sit quite comfortably, cross legged, the laptop against his thighs. He brings up the security feed and hones in on the cameras right outside of her office. There are three. One that way, one this way and the other only has peripheral vision because it's pointed towards the front entrance. As Gillian watches, she can see a man walking down the corridor, right to her office door. She holds her breath on instinct and Cal turns towards her again, his finger on his lips again; as if she needs convincing now. Gillian looks back to the screen and as the man pushes on her office door, she can see he has a gun in his other hand.

Gillian doesn't realise it, but not only is she holding her breath, but she's gripping Cal's arm way too tightly. She can just about feel her fingernails oozing slowly into his flesh, even through his sports coat, but he doesn't flinch her away and she can't seem to bring herself to let go. The man in the doorway looks around but Gillian can't see his face; there is no camera in her office and he's no longer facing towards the cameras outside it. He's wearing jeans and a dark green army jacket. His hair is blondish, long and he seems familiar. It tugs at Gillian's brain but she can't place him; fear keeps all aspects of her still. She can feel Cal rigid against her, holding his breath too, as the man looks in, no more than five feet away from them. She gets it now. She gets why they had to hide.

Gillian watches on screen as the man leans out of her office again, letting the door bang back into place; he's no longer being subtle about it. He turns and heads across the way to Cal's office and she sees his face, gets a really good look. Oh. Him. Cal looks over at her, his question silent, but loud and she nods. It's her. This man is here for her. She panics a look over to Cal but he's just watching her neutrally. She reaches to tap the keys on the keyboard, she needs to change the view; they have employees.

She doesn't get a chance. Cal shifts, grabs her arm, dislodges her fingernails. They awkwardly climb out from beneath her desk, but they are quiet. Cal gestures again that she should be silent and she just about gives him an eye roll; it's freaking more than implied.

Gillian doesn't need the laptop to know the man has gone into Cal's office; she can see now that the way is clear. Cal grabs her hand, swinging the laptop in his left and goes to the door. He has to let her go to open it, but once is snaps back on the mechanism that will keep it open, he grabs her again and they start a very quick walk down the corridor. Gillian's not sure where they're meant to be going, but she figures the exit would be a good start, so she's surprised again when Cal tugs her in the other direction. Her heels clip loudly against the floor, despite trying to walk on her toes, and she lets out a little strangled noise and then there's a loud bang and she's instinctively shying, making herself smaller. Cal pulls her sharply against his chest and then they're ducking into the nearest room.

The break room. That's really not the best place for them to be. It's floor to ceiling glass and completely exposed but Cal keeps moving, not looking back, dragging her behind him as he crosses the room. Gillian stumbles out of a shoe and bumps into a table, but between her desperate desire to escape, and Cal physically egging her on, she barely stops, or registers the pain of her ankle and leg; she quickly kicks away the other shoe and it's a lot easier to move. The ground is cold. They keep going, out through the opposite door and around the corner. There's another loud bang and Gillian can hear a window shatter, she can then feel the soft rain drop thrumming of glass falling against her head and neck.

Cal does not slow down and he's practically running now. Gillian hurries after him and he cuts across the corridor to barge into the next room. The lab. A door with a lock. He lets go of Gillian to punch in the code and the mechanics sound, locking the door behind them. Cal turns and sees Gillian standing there watching him. Her relief is only slightly tempered. He grabs her hand again, moving her further across the room, away from the glass door, that really, will not stop a man with a gun. The Cube is the only thing that's bullet proof and that's across the way. They should have gone there. They should have left.

Cal ditches his laptop roughly and logs himself into the security feed on one of the lab computers. He brings the feed up on the big screen and Gillian watches the man heading down the corridor, almost right opposite where they are now. Her breath his heavy as she waits, dread heavy in her stomach. She doesn't know where to go next. They're almost trapped. But the man heads into the room right across the corridor. A supply closet. But it's large enough that if he decides to check in the back, it might buy them a minute.

He does.

"Who is that guy?" Cal asks sharply, coming towards her, getting in her face.

"He's," Gillian thinks back. What was his name? She doesn't even remember. That's how much she thought she'd see him again.

"He's here for you though?" Cal presses.

"I think so," Gillian tries. She looks around. "Where is everybody else?"

"Have you not seen the time?" Cal gives her one of those looks, one of those condescending looks that she sometimes wants to slap off his face. But she checks her watch and he's right. It's really late. It's summer. The sun is only starting to set.

Gillian sighs, feeling a little more of the tension escape, and then she sees the man leave the supply closet and head further down the corridor, to the door that leads to the Cube and she realises they're wasting valuable escape time having a conversation. She can feel fear prickling along the back of her shoulders. She steps towards a phone. "What are you doing?" Cal asks softly.

"Calling the police," she tells him. But as she picks up the phone she can hear there is no dial tone. Damn it. "Phone?" She turns to her business partner.

Cal snatches the handset out of her hand and checks it himself, then tosses it to the desktop where it clatters and falls to the floor. He looks disgusted. "Where's your phone?" Gillian asks him again, impatiently, half tempted to bodily search him; the panic seems to be building again, rising up out of her control.

"In my bloody office," Cal shoots back. He gives a huff.

"Yeah mine too," Gillian responds gently.

"What the bloody hell Gillian?" Cal looks over at her. "How do you know this guy?"

"From a case."

"Which one?" Cal doesn't even seem surprised.

"The one with the church compound and the IRS."

Cal stares at her for a moment. "From last year?"

"Yes," Gillian answers quickly. She doesn't want to be having this conversation there. They need to get moving again, get to safety.

"Guy knows how to hold a grudge. What did you do to him?"

"We need to think about getting out of here," Gillian tries to change the subject. "He's in the cube," she shoves past Cal to get to the keyboard and changes the feed to the other room. The man is walking around, the gun casually at his side, checking all the dark corners. Really, there is only a giant glass box in that room. It won't be long until he comes out again. On this side of the corridor there are toilets, and the lab. They really don't have a lot of time to make a move, if they're going to make one. And they can't just stay where they are.

"My office," Cal suggests on a murmur.

Gillian looks over at him. Up at him, a little, now that she doesn't have any shoes on. Suddenly, she can feel her arm and her leg aching. Something slides down her back, and it doesn't feel good.

"Phone, gun, solid walls," Cal points out. "He's already looked there."

"How did he even know I was here?" Gillian muses.

"Can we work that one out later?" Cal grabs her arm, her right arm this time, spread those bruises around, and tugs her to the door. Not the door they came through, that's still locked, but the one on the other side of the room.

A door handle rattles and makes them both freeze. Not the door handle that's they're standing next to, the one that's locked, the one across the room. They simultaneously glance up at the big screen and see the man with the gun standing right outside the door, as if his shadow in the pane wasn't enough of an indication. Cal pushes down on the unlocked door and eases it open. The man puts his shoulder into the glass, but it won't break that way. Cal tugs Gillian ahead of him through the door and then there's the sound of another gun shot. Gillian flinches hard, feels Cal's hand at her back, pushing her forward and the rest of him on her heels, brushing against her, urging her silently on.

She rushes down the side of the wall, to the corner where the man is breaking into their lab. It's a matter of delicate timing; they have to cross that open expanse to get to Cal's office. And yet, if they go left, they can get to the exit. Gillian turns back to grab Cal's arm and he's trying to pull her forward, they stumble. "The exit," she hisses at him.

"No," Cal shakes his head and there's another gunshot. Loud. So freaking loud. And it echoes around their work space. Gillian gives up on arguing, gives up on resisting and let's Cal pull her across the space, her bare feet slapping against the cold ground. They reach Cal's office and go in but there are no locks on the doors here. Just precious seconds. They're panting as they both go straight to his desk. Cal picks up his phone with his left hand, shoves it at her, then turns away immediately for his study. With shaking fingers Gillian dials the numbers, not even needing to unlock the device. She follows Cal to the other room, where he's already kneeling in front of his safe, working the code with his left hand to release the gun inside.

"Nine-one-one," the operator picks up quickly. "What is your emergency?"

"I need help," Gillian starts inanely. She shakes the fogginess out of her head. "Police," she tries again. "I need police. There's a man with a gun trying to shoot me and my partner."

"Ma'am, what is the address?'

Gillian tells her automatically and stares down at Cal's back. What's with his jacket? It looks odd. She reaches down and presses her hand against the patch that seems blacker than the rest and as she pulls her fingers back she can tell they're wet, and they're red. Cal's bleeding. He's been shot. Cal gives a little groan and looks back at her. His eyes go wide quickly and Gillian doesn't even get the chance to process his face, or the voice of the operator in her ear, just a sudden blow to the back of her head. She feels herself start to drop, and then she's out cold.


	2. Chapter 2

When Gillian fell, she knocked Cal into the edge of the safe, so now he has a bump right on the ridge of his brow that stings like a bitch, but really, it can't be anything compared to what Gillian's going to wake up to. If she wakes up. No, when she wakes up. Cal can't do much but watch her lying on the ground at this point. He can't move his right arm, the one that caught the bullet, and he's half scared that there is going to be some permanent damage. He's not really thinking about bleeding out at this point. He's thinking about Gillian. Just a second ago, the compound guy kicked the phone away from her hand and smashed his heel down on it, so now it's in shattered pieces. As Cal is rolling himself over and trying to get up, he is grabbed by the collar and pulled roughly to sit, leaning against the staircase. The compound guy then crouches in front of him. He gestures to the phone, asks Cal who Gillian was calling. Cal shakes his head. "She didn't say."

The compound guy's eyes are blue and there doesn't seem to be much behind them, no soul or humanity and that makes Cal feel cold. What scares him more, is that he doesn't know who this guy is, or why he is here.

"Who did she talk to?" The demand comes again.

Cal shakes his head, gives a groan like he's in a lot of pain and therefore, less of a threat; his heart is pounding, keeping him alert. "She didn't talk to anyone. You cut her off," Cal grinds out, letting his eyes roll a little.

The compound guy seems to buy this and gets to his feet again. He goes immediately to Gillian and nudges her roughly with a boot. "Wakey wakey," he sing songs at her and Cal wants to get up and punch the guy out.

"Leave her alone," Cal tries but he sounds weak and completely undemanding; he's not sure if that was an act anymore. The other man kind of glances over his shoulder but he barely really looks in Cal's direction; like Cal is nothing, barely a nuisance.

Gillian gives a groan on the floor and starts to move. Cal watches the very moment she realises how badly her head hurts. It's a unique expression of extreme pain and he wants to go to her, but really, his body isn't exactly responding to him right now either, never mind that he'd have to get around the man standing over her, and he suspects it will be a better idea to try and conserve his energy for an opportune time. His gun is still in his safe. He barely had the door open before they were interrupted. And the compound guy didn't look through it, didn't look inside, hasn't asked what Cal was even looking for in there, so at least he still has that up his sleeve.

"Get up," compound guy demands.

Gillian is turning over and Cal can see the stream of red in her hair that makes him feel sick. Her eyes flicker open, and they're sleepy. It takes longer for her to seem to get a grip on the situation. Her eyes come over to meet his but he's too slow in trying to send her a hopeful signal. He just stares and she's glancing away again as if she barely registered him, pushing herself to sit up. Compound guy continues to stands over her, doesn't help her to stand and when she does, her face is so pale and she raises a shaky hand to her head. She doesn't get to even connect before compound guy is grabbing her arm roughly and shoving her towards where Cal is sitting. "Tie him up."

Cal watches her close her eyes as something washes over her. She stumbles a little and then crouches in front of him. Or falls to her knees. Compound guy tosses her a plastic tie. She reaches for it gingerly, where it has landed on Cal's shin. She fingers it for a moment before she meets his eyes and he gives her a little nod. He knows. She doesn't have a choice. It's ok. What else is she going to do? There are dark marks under her eyes and the red is down the side of her neck; Cal can't even tell where it's coming from. Her skin almost looks grey. She reaches over his lap to move his hand behind him, the one attached to his gimpy shoulder and he suppresses the urge to cry out as the sharp stabbing pain radiates out through his body. He shudders though, tries to lean away from the ache, and Gillian murmurs that she's sorry. Cal can't even bring himself to respond. Black spots are appearing in front of his eyes so he closes them. If he wasn't sweating before, he breaks out now; he can feel it prickle out along his forehead and soon it is stinging the cut in his eyebrow. He moves his other hand behind him and feels Gillian's fingers on his wrists. She fumbles for ages, binding his wrists together, carefully, delicately. As the compound guy tells her to hurry up, Gillian shoots him a glare.

Cal's almost proud but he thinks if he dares move a muscle right now, he might throw up and black out. The only thing that forces him to keep his head is the fact that Gillian's probably in just as awful a state as he is and he doesn't know what's going to happen next; he needs to be somewhat prepared. One of them has to and he doesn't think she could overpower the other man.

Gillian sits back on her feet, looking exhausted and Cal let's his head loll towards her; he already can't feel his hands. "Don't be stupid, tighten it."

Gillian reaches forward again, knocking her head into Cal's shoulder as she reaches for his hands again. Cal pulls on his wrists and Gillian only closes half the distance again and he thinks there might be enough room for him to tug free. If he tried. If he wasn't already bleeding and in blinding pain.

"Now get up," compound guy directs and Gillian gets slowly to her feet again. Cal keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, as if he were the one who had to get up and it has taken everything out of him. It feels like the world is spinning and he is quickly losing control; the bullet wound is doing more to him than he originally thought. When he opens his eyes again, compound guy is leaning in too close to Gillian and whispering in her air. She stiffens, then shudders and he grabs her by the arm, turning her around roughly. He tucks the gun into the front of his jeans and Cal hopes he shoots his balls off. Then compound guy takes out another tie from his pocket and Cal wonders how many he has in there, how prepared was he for this. How many people did he think he was going to encounter here? This psycho is obviously acting on a plan; he's equipped. And that scares Cal more too. A psycho with a plan is scarier than aimless nutbarery.

Cal needs to focus; now he needs a plan too.

The compound guy binds Gillian's wrists behind her back, pulling the zip tie so tightly, that Cal can see it cut into her flesh and she cries out. Then the other man grabs her roughly by the upper arm again, turns her, and throws her down on the couch. Cal flinches hard too, instinctively wanting to put out his hands to break her fall, which only sheers more incredible pain down his arm and torso from the bullet wound high in his shoulder.

Gillian bounces on the couch on her stomach, and compound guy is on her really quickly, pressing his body weight down on her, pining her, using his left hand to move her where he wants her. He gives her just enough room to forcibly turn her over and then his hands are on her thighs, shoving up her dress. Cal watches on, appalled, disturbed, half curious; he honestly didn't see this happening. He figured the guy was out to kill her. He still has the gun in his goddamn jeans. Gillian seems to come to her senses and she tries to fight back. She tries kicking out but the angle is awkward and she's bucking her hips, struggling with her shoulders, trying to push him away. Compound guy gives her a harsh backhand, snapping her head to the right sharply and she's stunned for a second. She goes still. She looks over at Cal blindly and he pulls on his binds, feels something help lubricate his skin against the plastic tie. He tugs, but it's not enough. And his shoulder is a fire of agony.

Cal watches as the other man reaches with a hand to his fly and Cal closes his eyes again. No fucking way this is happening. Gillian suddenly cries out sharply, desperately, terrorised and an awful taste lines the back of Cal's mouth. No. No fucking way is he letting this happen.

"No! No!" Gillian practically screams and Cal feels a hot rage well up inside him, over powering the aching pain. He pulls sharply against his ties, tugs urgently in surging bursts. Something gives and he's able to bring his arms in front of him again. Gillian's voice is harsh and desperate against the silence of room; she's begging frantically. Cal has to open his eyes again to see what he's doing. He scrambles to the safe, awkward, his right arm not cooperating at all, the pain incredible. He can hear screams, crying, grunts and he just wants to shut it all out, to make it stop. He uses the safe door to ease himself closer, as fast as he can, shuffling his hips forwards, but god he's so sore and weak and he's not sure he's entirely conscious the whole time. He reaches out with his left hand for the shelf with his gun on it and turns.

What he sees sickens him. The compound guy on Gillian. His hands under her dress. His pelvis pressed tightly against hers. Gillian's face is an absolute picture of fear, even with her eyes tightly closed; she shifts and struggles and she's crying. Cal pulls himself to his feet, using the safe door again, fumbling the gun in his hand, finding the trigger. It's heavy in his left hand, too heavy. He crosses the room and swings.


	3. Chapter 3

It stops. It all stops. Suddenly. Suddenly Jamie Cowely, that's his name, she remembers now, isn't trying to force himself on her; he's not hurting her anymore. Her own whimpers die away and Gillian goes still again, listening, waiting. And then there is a thud. Gillian opens her eyes. Cowely is lying in her lap, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, a line of red trickling into the corner of his nose. There's another thud, barely a second later, and Gillian turns her head against the couch beneath her. She can see enough of a crumpled figure to know that Cal is now on the floor. Without thinking too much about how he makes her skin crawl, she pushes against the heavy body in her lap, twisting her hips, she gets passed him and falls to the floor herself. She lands hard on her knees and shuffles forward to Cal, ignoring the pain. It looks like maybe he tried to sit down but collapsed instead. He's flat on his back, his left arm thrown wide, his gun down by his thighs; he dropped it first. As Gillian shuffles further towards him, off balance because her hands are still behind her back, she knocks against the deathly metal; it's cold. "Cal," she calls, her voice shaky. "Cal wake up."

"Wake luv," Cal murmurs and Gillian just about bursts into tears with relief. The thought of being alone right now completely sickens her. He gives a groan and Gillian leans down so her cheek is pressed against his heart. She's actually not sure if she fell, or whether she wanted to see for herself; she thinks she just needs the contact. He gives a hum and she's forcing herself up again. She looks behind her, finds Jamie still on the couch, and his gun... there! Also on the ground. Just out of reach of his fingers trailing along the rug. His jeans are around his thighs, and she tries not to look too hard at that, at him.

She realises she's got to act quickly. There might be red streaking down his cheek, but that's not an hourglass of time. "Cal," Gillian turns back to him. His eyes flutter at her a little. "Cal I need you to wake up. I need you to cut me free," she urges, leaning forward over him, her knees digging sharply into the hard floor beneath her. Her head hurts, throbs behind her eyes, but she refuses to take inventory of all the aches just yet; she can't stop and let it overwhelm her.

"Can't," Cal responds.

"Yes!" Gillian pleads softly, tears closing up her throat. He has to. He has to. How else is she going to get free? "Please." She looks down at his shoulder now, noticing the dark patch on his sports coat has gotten so much bigger. There are red smears on the ground, over there, where he was sitting before, and here, it's pooling out from beneath him. Gillian's heart is in her throat and for a second, she lets the panic blind her. She has to stop the bleeding too. He saved her, and now she has to act the hero as well, for him. And she can't do that with her hands still tied behind her back. "Stay with me Cal," she urges. "I'm going to get scissors. Stay with me."

Cal's good arm twitches and he gives a half groan.

"Open your eyes!" Gillian demands and he does. They're bleary, barely even open, but he does look at her. It's a promise. She gets up awkwardly, almost falling flat on her face again but makes it to her feet, the world spinning and colours distorting around the edges of her eyes. She stumbles, her feet numb and foreign. She kicks Jamie's gun further under the couch but leaves Cal's where it is, and it has to be good enough. She has to hope if he suddenly gains consciousness again, that Cal can reach for his gun before the compound guy can. She hurries, picking her way across the floor quickly, to Cal's desk. There, in the cup beside the computer screen, are black plastic handles sticking out. She has to honestly take a second longer to figure out how she's going to get them into her hands if they're behind her but she settles for a very awkward grope, knocking the cup over, spilling half the contents onto the floor, as well as taking out a stack of papers. They're still fluttering to the floor as she goes back into the study. Seeing it from this angle, she can only describe it as carnage.

She kneels beside Cal again, determined. His eyes are closed, but they flutter at her again and she can see the lake of blood is slowly starting to spread. "Cal," she calls to him again.

"Yeah luv. Here," he mutters back, turning his head from side to side, like he's trying to shake sentience back into his brain. He's bleeding, he's woozy, he probably used the last of his strength to swing his weapon and Gillian's just about ready to freak out that he's going to leave her here.

"I need you to cut the binds," Gillian tells her partner calmly, amazing herself with how it sounds despite the overwhelming urge to throw up and break down at tears.

"Can't," Cal tries.

"Yes Cal. I'll give you the scissors. But I can't reach. I need you to do this for me. Can you do this for me Cal?"

Cal whispers out a breath and then seems to go still. Too still.

"Cal!" Gillian yells at him.

He flinches, opens his eyes sharply. "Give then," he brings up his left hand, holds it out. Gillian has to turn right around, kneeling painfully on the hard floor still, the only thing that's assuring, shifting her weight and angling to slip the scissors into his hand. Then she holds still. She feels the sharp point of the blades against her soft forearm but still doesn't move; she has to be patient. He can cut her for all she cares, so long as he also cuts the plastic tie. Gillian tries pulling her arms apart but they don't budge. "Cal," she prompts.

"Hang on," he grumps impatiently at her and she'd smile, she'd laugh, if this wasn't right now.

She hears the sharp snap, tries her arms, and yes they come apart. Blood rushes into places that wasn't there before, and her fingers are so practically numb that when she leans on them to turn around again, she just about collapses. She knocks against the scissors, still in Cal's hands, blades parted. There's a red line on her arm now but she doesn't care, she can honestly barely feel it over her gargantuan headache. She snatches them out of his grip, her fingers feeling clumsy, but she manages to toss them away and grab his hand, bringing it up close to cradle. "Cal," she reaches out to him.

"Mmmmm," he groans.

She leans down and presses her lips against his. She can just hear him, if he were more conscious, if he weren't bleeding to death: did you just kiss me!? "Stay with me ok?" She insists.

"Trying," comes the reply.

He's going to bleed out, she thinks, his skin ghastly pale; the bullet must have nicked something for it to not have stopped yet. She reaches for the throw that used to be on the couch and is now somehow on the floor. "Cal, can you sit up a little bit?"

"Kidding?"

"No I'm not kidding. I need to put this under you." She also grabs a cushion, also askew from the struggle and she tries to ignore why. She slips a hand behind Cal's neck and urges him up, he half helps her and she slips the cushion under his head. But that wasn't what she really wanted. "Your shoulders Cal," Gillian tells him. She places a hand on his upper arm, of his right side and he grimaces. She gets a grip while his facial expression gets deeper. And when she pulls up, he cries out. She tries to cram part of the blanket in behind his back but he's not high enough, there isn't enough room. She pulls a little harder and his cry becomes a desperate shriek. "_No!_"

Guilt floods through Gillian, heats her cheeks and brings tears to her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, stuffing the material as best she can anyway. Cal cries again, his voice almost breaking, his eyes are dark slits, and his left hand is trying to reach up between where she's leaning over him, trying to get her to stop. "I'm sorry," Gillian says again as she gives it up. She lets him go and bunches the rest of the throw blanket to press against the front of his wound. Cal flinches against her, groaning, turning his head; it sounds like he's choking.

There's a loud bang on the door, the front entrance, but it sounds so far away and close at the same time as it echoes. Cal's head turns to her, his eyes more open now, and there's sheer agony on his face, all sharp lines and horror. Sweat has beaded along his forehead and the gash in his eyebrow is bright red and oozing. "That'd be the cops."

Gillian picks up his left hand and presses it on his shoulder. Cal grits his teeth sharply and when she lets go, he lets his hand relax immediately. She wants to insist, but she thinks he probably can't take it.

"Better go let them in," Cal grits out. Gillian starts to get to her feet, and then she remembers: they're not alone. They're not alone and she can't... She can't do anything about that. She can't move Cal, nor can she attempt to subdue Jamie further; they're both relying on the fact that he's out cold and not being shaken back to consciousness. She looks around for Cal's gun, and it's there, where it was before. She picks it up, heavy metal in her palm and looks down at her partner. He's watching her, his eyes seem dark, but he's waiting, for her to make the next move. She looks at his right hand, his trigger finger, sees it's streaked with red rivulets; the blood would have run when he stood. But the gun dropped on his left side and she quickly works it out. She takes Cal's left hand again. She puts the gun in his grip but his fingers are lax and she totally gets why he didn't shoot Cowely before. He can barely grip the gun, let alone aim and shoot properly, and she was there, too close; he might have killed her. Gillian forcibly puts Cal's hand, with the gun, over the blanket bunched at his right shoulder. She leans down and kisses him again. "If he wakes up," Gillian tells him and Cal looks up at her, his breath shaking out between his pale, dry lips. "Shoot him this time."


	4. Chapter 4

It feels like Saturday. It should be Saturday. Because it feels like it's been a long week and Cal is tired. He'd like to go back to sleep but it seems he's awake; he's aware, can hear noises. He realises he can't feel his arm too well and half thinks he's slept on it funny but then his brain inform: him; he's not lying on that side. He's been shot. Cal forces his eyes open, heart pounding. He wasn't meant to go to sleep; he promised Gillian. How long has she been gone? She was just getting the door. He's somewhere different. This isn't his study anymore and he feels another spike of panic.

"Hey," a soft voice is near him and he turns his head a little and there's Gillian. The relief chokes up this throat. He remembers the rest of it now. Remembers her leaning over him, and paramedics, people in uniforms, the roof passing by like he was swimming beneath the sky. He has to be in a hospital bed now and if Gillian's there, with him, then she must be safe too. Cal swallows hard, fights down an urge to cry. He croaks something at her, not words, just a sound.

"You're ok," Gillian tells him.

There's something against his lips, sort of hard like a straw and he gets it and sucks in a little liquid, swirling it around his mouth before swallowing it; it's like a handful of nails. "Ok?" Cal manages.

"You're ok," Gillian repeats.

"Are _you_ ok?" Cal murmurs. He can barely keep his eyes open and when she's too close, she's just a blur. She moves away again, sits, Cal assumes, on a chair by the bed. He looks over at her and she folds her hands in her lap, elbows tight in against her body; small, protective.

"I'm fine," she gives a half smile. It's meant to be reassuring, Cal knows, but it does little to placate the uneasiness in his heart. She's on his left and so he twitches his hand towards her, underneath, he can feel an ache in his other shoulder. Gillian slips her fingers against his palm and they're cool. "Do you know where you are Cal?"

"Yes. Hospital. Shoulder," there are too many thoughts. "That guy?" He can feel her stiffen, because her fingers go hard against his and he half thinks she might slip out of his grasp, so he tries to hold on tighter.

"He's on the next floor," Gillian tells him.

"Don't go see him," Cal tells her, trying to meet her eyes but he's pretty much swimming. He thinks he can't feel his legs but he manages to twitch a toe and he's wrong. They're still there.

"I didn't plan on it," her tone is droll. But that's the kind of thing she did, tried to appeal to people's humanity; going to try to talk to him would be exactly the kind of thing Gillian would do. And that guy hurt her, he raped her; it makes Cal feel sick. He wasn't able to stop it.

"I'm sorry," Cal closes his eyes and wishes for darkness; just a little bit more.

Gillian is silent for half a second longer. "What for?" She just about whispers at him.

"He hurt you."

"It's ok," Gillian soothes.

"No ok," Cal tries to interrupt.

"It's ok," Gillian repeats. "He won't hurt either of us now. He can't get in here."

"But," Cal protests. He takes a second to find the words and even when he does, he's not sure they're the right ones. "He forced himself Gillian."

Her fingers tense again and when Cal looks for her eyes he can't find them. She's looking down, in her lap, and her elbow is bent, like she wants to draw her hand away again. Cal feels nausea wash over him and hopes he's not going to upend his stomach. He can barely move. He'd make a mess. He's already made a mess. Then Gillian lifts her head and meets his eye, her expression is sharp and hard and determined and sometimes she looks at him like that when she's not going to take any of his shit. It seems she's not going to do that now either. "He didn't rape me Cal," she tells him so very pointedly.

Cal doesn't even know how to react. He doesn't even know if she's telling him the truth.  
"He," Gillian starts again but hesitates. Her eyes flicker to the side and Cal finally notices the bruise spreading out from her temple and the white bandage held awkwardly in place against her hair. He looks for other signs but the light is dim and he can't keep his eyes still in one place enough to focus. "He touched me," Gillian finishes, her voice tight and foreign.

Really, Cal doesn't even know what to say to that either. He's not sure if that's better, though he supposes it is, but what does 'touched' mean? He doesn't ask. He can't. He won't.

"I'll tell the police whatever you want me to."

Gillian looks surprised; she holds it for him. "Tell them what you saw Cal."

"I didn't see anything," he confesses. His eyes dart away and when they come back he can see her surprise goes deeper, held longer, her eyes hard. "I didn't want to see," he adds, and looks away again, closes his eyes once more, sees her behind his lids anyway. Hears her desperate shrieks. "I didn't look," Cal explains.

Gillian takes her hand back and Cal's stomach drops. He's done worse, somehow, he made it worse for her. He can't grab her back. He doesn't know what to say either and so they're silent. The air is so thick Cal has trouble getting it into his lungs and then he realises, he thinks, he's crying.

"Cal," Gillian's voice is soft.

"I'm sorry luv. I should have stopped him."

"Hey," Gillian gets up, Cal can feel her getting closer, her hand sliding into his again. "You _did_ stop him Cal. You stopped him before he could. He tried but you stopped him." Her hand is on his cheek, soft and caressing, her tone soothing but it takes longer for her words to sink in and maybe Cal believes her now. Maybe he thinks she isn't broken; he's not sure about himself. "He didn't hurt me," she tells him sternly. "You stopped him before he could. You saved me."

"Don't let him ruin you Gillian," Cal tells her desperately, opening his eyes. She's right over him, her face so close, and her eyes tender but surprised. "Don't let him," Cal squeezes her fingers. He doesn't seem to be able to find the right words to express what he feels. He doesn't want her to think about that guy. He doesn't want that guy to stop her from being with someone else, sometime in the future. He doesn't want that wanker to get under her skin, into her mind, into her life.

Gillian gives a soft nod and her hand shifts down to his left shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Her eyes tell him more: they tell him they understand, they agree.

"What did you do to him?" Cal asks next. Gillian opens her mouth, shocked again and Cal would almost find it funny that he kept changing the subject, kept throwing her off, kept her on guard. But keeping her on guard wasn't funny anymore. This wasn't funny at all. "Why did he come?"

Gillian's eyes go hard again. No, not hard, lifeless, like she's not in there and Cal hates it; he hates looking at her when she's like that. "You remember the IRS case? With the church at the compound?"

"Last year?" Cal whispers, feeling suddenly so damn tired. His grip relaxes against her hand but she makes up for it. He can't quite bring up the details again in his mind and he wants to sleep.

"I helped one of the women escape. With his kids."

Cal stares at her, not sure he heard right, but her gaze is steady on his and even without being an expert, he can tell she's not lying to him. "You told me it was fine. That case."

"It was fine," Gillian agrees but she's hedging now. She hadn't told him about helping one of the members escape. "I thought it was fine. He threatened me..."

"He threatened you?" Cal's concern makes his heart beat funny.

"I didn't take him seriously," Gillian finishes.

"Too right."

"I'm sorry Cal. That I dragged you into this somehow. It shouldn't have involved you."

"Your mess is my mess luv," Cal murmurs and he's not sure where that came from. He thinks he's being drugged because he's fading fast; and he doesn't entirely feel safe. But he wants her to know, that what he said, it's true. If anything, he was glad he was there. If he wasn't... Who knows what would have happened.

**PJ**

Gillian tries talking to him again, to make him understand how sorry she is, but his jaw goes slack and his eyes stop moving beneath his lids and he's out. Gillian moves back again, settles his hand carefully against his stomach, so he'll be more comfortable and then leaves his recovery room again; she wasn't meant to be there in the first place. She goes down the corridor to another recovery room, this one less intense, where she's supposed to be resting. They're going to let her go home in the morning and she's meant to be getting some sleep, or conserving energy, or something. But she can't. She hurts, it feels all over, and it is so distracting. She had to go and look in the mirror. There are bruises on her head, on her wrists, arms, back, thighs...

But Cal... his shoulder. They did their best, it was a through and through, but the surgeon thinks there will be nerve damage and it very well may be permanent. And that is Gillian's fault. Despite what Cal says, it's her fault; he's medicated, he doesn't know what he's talking about right now. She inadvertently dragged him into this whole mess. And he didn't watch. He dislocated his thumb getting out of the ties and she didn't even get to tell him what a hero he is because he broke himself to save her from being broken and... He's a hero.

Gillian gets back into her bed, pulls the blanket up to cover her lap, but she doesn't lie down, can't close her eyes. Her headache is getting worse again but they won't let her have something stronger.

'_You and I can pray together'._

She shudders hard. She can still feel the way his breath tickled against her cheek as he whispered in her ear, right before he grabbed her. Cal is correct, she would have gone to see him, but not to make nice, she just wants to see him; a human face for a monster. But she made a promise just now; she won't let Cowely break her. She's not broken physically, and she won't let him touch her spirit either. They've given her a hospital gown; the police took all her clothes and she feels violated, open and exposed. No matter how tightly she ties it, the material is thin and keeps nothing out. Nothing is kept out. It's all there in front of her so Gillian gets out of bed again and goes to the small bathroom. She's already washed, they even let her have a shower, after the police took their evidence, but she doesn't feel clean enough. She can still feel his hands on her, against her, hurting and his breath on her skin and it makes her throw up.

She has another shower, going over every inch of her, scraping her nails against her skin, trying to get rid of all of it. She can't bring herself to touch certain places and her thighs ache but she has to, she wants to be clean. Cal wouldn't let them bottle neck at the entrance, trying to get out of the building. The doors lock automatically after eight pm, to stop people from coming and going as they pleased if they were there working late. It was meant to protect them, but it locked them in, and if they had stood there, wasting time, punching in the code and waiting for the mechanism, they would have been easy targets; Cowely would have got to them. He got to them anyway. But Cal tried and Gillian wasn't thinking about that, wasn't being rational, she still isn't, her thoughts skate between subjects easily, but he tried to help her. He did his best. He did more than that.

Gillian's crying as she turns the water off and she keeps on as she wraps two towels around her and then uses a third to slowly go over her skin to dry off. Her head hurts and stings because she had to wash her hair again. She goes to the cupboards and finds two other spare hospital gowns she didn't notice before. She puts them on, then the one she was wearing before over the top. Three layers feels better but it's not enough, still not enough. She's exposed. She wraps her hair up in one of the already damp towels and places another over her shoulders, liking the weight of it; grounding. She gets into her bed again, knees tucked up against her chest and hugging them tightly.

It has to be morning soon. It has to. Then she can go home and put on clothes and lock the doors. But there she'll be alone and the only person who has really been there for her, the person who keeps her safe is here. She wants to stay. She wants to go back to his room. But she can't move and she doesn't _want_ to move; she just wishes he were there with her. She doesn't want to be alone. Cowely is chained to his bed, upstairs. Cal hit him so hard, he fractured his skull. That's why he was out for so much longer than she was. Cal hit him. He didn't shoot because it was his left hand and it could have got her but he swung the gun so hard, he broke bone. With his left hand. For her.

She had to look a policewoman in the eye and tell her that Cowely did not put his penis inside her and it made her want to crawl out of her own skin; scream so hard until she turned herself inside out. It still does. He touched her and he hurt her, but he didn't... She thinks she's lucky but she's still violated. She's damaged now. But she just promised Cal, she wouldn't let Cowely break her; she can't. But she doesn't know how. Because she _is_ broken, damaged, debased; she's not the same anymore. She can't be.

Finally the sun comes up and someone comes to see how well Gillian slept.


	5. Chapter 5

Cal hasn't seen Gillian for a really long time; it could actually be a few months. He's hazy on time. Zoe took him home from the hospital when he was allowed to leave, and Emily comes to see him every day, before or after school, sometimes both. Zoe manages three or four times a week, sometimes full days when it's the weekend. But no Gillian. At first, Cal doesn't really notice. He's on heavy pain killers and a physio therapist wrecks havoc on his thumb and shoulder. He doesn't really even leave the house, or his bed, certainly doesn't go to work. He doesn't know where she is, he can't go to her, and after a while, it becomes clear that she isn't coming to see him. Sometimes she does come to the house and leaves books for him, she brings him a new cell phone, but she never comes in, always just talks to Emily at the door and goes. Most of the time Cal is asleep and he suspects she plans it that way, though he doesn't know how. He tries to call her but her phone goes to voicemail. He texts her, when he figures out how, cack-handed with a new device, her responses are smiley faces and 'I'm ok's'. She asks how he is, and there's not much he can do from his invalid's bed. He's not sure what he'd say to her anyway. He's not been to work and he doesn't know if Gillian has. He thinks he should find out, normally he would, but he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to ask someone to do that for him; he doesn't know who.

So when there's a knock on the door, he's not expecting her, and when it's her, he's stunned. She looks... not good. Tired or maybe like she's been crying but he's not sure. He's just not sure anymore. Her hair is back in a rough ponytail, strands falling loose, messy. It used to be a good look for her. "Come in," he steps back to give her room and she goes by him, not quite meeting his eye, moving into his house. He can smell her and it's the same, familiar but she's different and this is what he's been afraid of. Cal closes the door with his left hand, his right arm is still in the sling, but he still doesn't tend to use it much anyway, doesn't have the strength or control, has tingly numbness. He follows her to the kitchen; she moves right through his house to the back. That's when Cal realises she's agitated. She's wringing her fingers and her face is stricken. He quickly crosses to her and takes her hands with his and she grips him tightly, looking up into his eyes this time. She seems so small; he doesn't remember her being that tiny and vulnerable and he wants to hug her, hold her, make it better somehow. But he doesn't know how. Someone else did this to her and he doesn't know how to fix it; correct someone else's mistakes. Doesn't even know where to start.

"What happened?" He asks and feels stupid. He _knows_ what happened. He was there.

"I can't," Gillian starts and her face seems to crumple into someone Cal's never seen before and then she presses her lips tightly against his.

He's stunned, of course he's stunned, but he's also pleased and then, unfortunately, repulsed. He brings his left hand to her shoulder and grips around her upper arm, pulling her away from him. She doesn't meet his eyes, instead she unclips the catch of his sling. "Gill," he tries to stop her, but he's not quick like he used to be. He's not sure why; to protect him or her?

Her blue eyes look up at him. "I want to see," she says simply and so he lets her move the sling away from his arm and unbutton his shirt; no pull-overs, he can't lift his arm above his head for any extended period of time. She pulls the material back from his shoulder and Cal watches her stare at the pink scar; a little pink bubble against the white of his skin. He spends time looking at it in the mirror, curious mostly, thinking about how easy it is to destroy muscle and skin; cells. So flimsy, so easy to tear it all apart. There's a twin on the other side, not quite lined up.

Gillian presses a kiss against his skin and then she's kind of embracing him, her cheek turned against his collar bone, her arms around his waist and leaning against his chest, his right arm trapped between them, because it's stiff and sore and his left is in the small of her back, a natural home, a normal kind of fit. And it feels good, so good to be held by her and to hold her and to have her there in the middle of his kitchen. And it feels calmer. He feels more relaxed than he has in a while. It must have been about a month now, since that night.

Then Gillian turns her head and presses a kiss against his throat, making him swallow instinctively, nervously, then her mouth is on his, warm, a simple press at first, then she brushes her lips against his, encouraging and he kisses her back; her mouth is hot. After he does, after it's too late, he thinks that he shouldn't have. His hand has tightened against her back and he seems to register how thick the sweater is that she's wearing and he can't really feel her. There's something between them and he pulls away.

Gillian blinks up at him, not ashamed, but somehow... defeated. She brings her fingers to his jaw and smoothes cool fingertips against his bearded bone. "Don't you want to?"

Cal shakes his head and she stares a second longer, before she's crushed and pulls away from him abruptly. "No," he tries and his voice is not his own. "It's not like that Gill." He does want to, that's what hurts so bad. "I can't." He can't explain... But she's already crying and she stands too close to him again even though just rejected her, and she's asking him why not. And then she's accusing him of things that aren't true.

"It's because of him?" It sounds like a question but it really isn't and Cal finally grabs her before she can get away from him again. She doesn't flinch under his hand on her arm, his left hand, and he pulls her in tight, so he can see her face, so she can see nothing but his. He wants her to understand this. It _is_ because of him, but Cal's not going to let her know that. Not ever. Cowely did things to her and Cal saw, he can't erase that from his mind, and even now when she kisses him, he sees her on the couch, with her dress shoved up to her hips and he's repulsed by the fact that he liked that he could see her thighs, could see little flashes of underwear; he should not be excited by that, someone else did that to her; it was neither of their choices. He wants her, but not after seeing that; he doesn't want to remember her that way.

"No," he tells her gruffly. "Not like this."

"I want you to love me," Gillian tells him and her face crumbles again and he lets her go because he's never really been good with tears. Gillian leans into him, her forehead against his clavicle and her arms up between them, trying to hide her face and she's so ashamed that it breaks Cal's heart. He thinks he should suck it up and just let her, make love to him or something, but when his mind wanders and he thinks about them together, it's not him between her legs, its Cowely and it makes him feel sick all over again. He can't. He really can't.

"I do love you," he tells her, because _that_, is the truth.

"I need you to love me," Gillian tries again and Cal repeats that he does. He tells her again and then again, and then he's crying with her, tears welling up and spilling into her hair, she doesn't seem to notice, and the sound of her heart breaking barely covers the sound of his. He can feel it though, feel the way his heart longs after her and she's right there, but he can't do a thing to touch her; can't even bring himself to embrace her. He could make it better, he knows he could; he could show her that not every man is a prick and really, it could be a beautiful thing. But he just can't. Because it's not him that he sees in that vulnerability with her. It's Cowely. And that bastard has ruined them both.

**PJ**

"Gill?"

She wakes slowly and there's a hand at her shoulder, squeezing gently, but not shaking, not startling her. She opens her eyes slowly and Cal is leaning over her. Her eyes are pretty much bleary and she thinks there's a good chance she's paralysed; she can't feel her body. But then Cal's talking to her and the words are making more sense as she wakes up and she can start to feel her feet. She shifts a little, everything rushing back in. She's in his bed and the pillow is so damn comfortable, but that's not the point.

"Come and have breakfast," Cal says and she gives a little frown.

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry to wake you but I figured you didn't eat last night."

"What time is it?" Gillian mumbles shifting to lean up on an elbow, get a better grip on things.

"Eight. You were asleep for twelve hours," he sounds impressed and Gillian looks up to meet his eyes but there's nothing in them but observation; no judgement and, thank god, no pity. "You must have been tired?"

"I haven't been sleeping well," Gillian admits without thinking about it. Cal steps back and let's her sit and as she lets the blanket fall away a little, that comforting warmth, she realises she's still fully dressed and she remembers last night, trying to undress him, and then crying on his shoulder, and him leading her upstairs. To sleep. She honestly doesn't remember if he slept there with her but she wouldn't mind if he had; him being close doesn't scare her.

"Come and eat," Cal coaxes again when she doesn't move.

"Give me a minute," she requests softly, so he goes to the door, pulling it almost closed behind him, and she suspects that if she doesn't make it down stairs in about five minutes, he's going to come back up to get her. Gillian looks over her shoulder and yes, that side of the bed has most definitely been slept in. She doesn't even mind. In fact, it's comforting, that she wasn't alone for once; she doesn't remember startling awake once. As Gillian throws back the covers further, she finds her shoes have been taken off for her, and she thinks she probably slept so soundly exactly because she was there.

She goes across the hall to the bathroom and finger combs her hair, picks the sleep from her eyes, splashes cold water on her cheeks; she's not trying to impress him. He made that clear last night. He doesn't want her that way; no, he can't. He can't be with her that way because of Cowely, because she's damaged goods now and the thought makes her grip the edge of the sink too tightly, forcing blood the other way. It takes her a really long minute to even start breathing again and it's all ruined before it started. The thing is, she had always thought it was just a matter of time with Cal, that they were slowly making their way towards each other. And now it's been undone.

At the end of the day, she still had her friend though. And Cal was a good friend to her, a great friend; loyal, sometimes and an idiot, but not when it really counted. So she goes downstairs to where he's waiting, sitting at the kitchen island, fork in his left hand and plate in front of him. He's been waiting for her, and so his eyes light on her easily, as soon as she's barely in the room. He gestures to another plate, opposite where he sits, and there is coffee too. Gillian slides onto the seat, curls hair behind her ear and tries to think of something to say to him. An apology sounds right but really, it's not enough. It's not enough, sorry, to really describe how very sorry she really is, dragging him into all of this, all of it, and he's feeding himself with one hand.

Gillian sips her coffee and it's good, not just the flavour of the beans but the sweetness and the amount of milk and just; she's not sure why it feels like such a relief. He's made eggs on toast and she cuts a forkful, looking up in time to see him struggling his fork through the bread, with his goddamn left had, no less, eventually cutting off a square. He's half way through the first piece of toast. He cooked for her. He cooked for her with one hand.

Gillian puts her first mouthful in against her tongue and damn, but if that doesn't taste like the second best thing she's ever eaten; she's barely eaten in the last month. Her favourite thing is still the coffee. It smells incredible. Before Cal can struggle with the toast again Gillian reaches over with her knife and fork and gets stuck in. She can feel Cal's gaze on her but she keeps at it and he doesn't complain. "Toast might have been a bit ambitious," he admits.

"You were doing pretty well," Gillian tells him, flicking up, to meet his eyes. He's watching her, sure, but it's not... It's still not pity, for him or her, or loathing or... it's just warm and neutral and like nothing happened last night, nothing happened last month. Gillian's heart flutters a little. "I love you too," she blurts.

Cal gives her an absolutely classic surprise expression.

Gillian withdraws her utensils, having finished cutting all his bread into bit sized cubes. She looks down at her breakfast, stunned with herself for saying it out loud, especially after last night, especially after last month. But it is the truth and he did say it first and she really wasn't making much sense last night. This is it though, she loves him and she wants to be with him but she can't be with him, yet, maybe, because of Cowely, but not because of her. Not entirely because of her. Because Cowely damaged both of them. Cal can't cut his own breakfast and he's here alone too, coping with whatever, she doesn't even know how. But he is coping, and up until last night, she hasn't been coping, she's been drowning. Now it feels like her head is above the water and guess who's treading right beside her? Cal.

Gillian reaches for her coffee, feeling more awake, more alert, more goddamn aware and Cal is still watching her and then he goes back to his meal conversationally. "You'd be impressed what I can do with my left hand now."

Gillian laughs. Before she can help it. A little giggle. And she feels heat in her cheeks and looks up to Cal and he's got a slight smirk in his eyes. "Not that," he tells her with feigned exaggeration and she laughs again. Laughs. Again. Like it's nothing. Like last night didn't happen. Like last month didn't happen. Oh and it feels incredible, sitting here, having breakfast with her best friend, the man who loves her, who she loves, and she shouldn't have stayed away so damn long. Cal doesn't look at her like the social worker did, like the cop did, like the rape counsellor does. He looks at her like she's still the strong woman he used to know, even though now she's just a little bit different. He loves her and last night when she came to throw herself at him, to get it over with, knowing that she was going to just have to get on with her life and everything in it, he didn't take advantage. He told her no, because he couldn't do it, not like that, not because he didn't want her.

She could break down in tears right now. She loves him so much. And he loves her so much, she knows. It might not be perfect right now. They're both pretty much still a mess. But there is hope now and she gets it. Cowely is not going to get to her. Cal doesn't want him to, for the both of them. Cowely might have changed her, he might have left marks, bruises that healed and memories that sometimes came unbidden, but he isn't going to factor into every aspect of the rest of her life.

Cal puts a forkful of toast and egg into his mouth and gives her a smile and she smiles back and sips her coffee. It really is very good coffee.


	6. Chapter 6

There are a few things Cal admires about Gillian, but at the top of the list has to be her strength. He can think of half a dozen times since he's known her, that she has proven beyond a doubt that she is a strong woman; hell, she puts up with him and top of the list used to be the day Sophie went back to her mother. And now there is Cowely. But she's here, on his couch, sitting too close and laughing when he makes stupid jokes and sharing some wine. She came for dinner, helped him cook when it took him a little longer than he thought; chopping slows him down but she didn't do it for him, just did other things to speed up the process slightly. She stacked the dishwasher, scrubbed at a pot he had nearly disfigured. She had to open the bottle. Gillian went to one of his physio-therapy sessions last week and he, sadly, agreed to going grocery shopping with her, even though she had to carry most of the bags inside herself. It's been nice, more than nice, to get closer to her again, after that month, after that night.

She likes to touch, Cal has noticed. His arm and shoulder mostly, but sometimes his neck and waist, a thigh, when she's feeling brave. It's natural and flirty and he gets why there are usually so many smiles aimed her way; he likes to smile at her too. What he likes more, is that she's smiling back. She's laughing and it finally feels carefree. Cal figures they're dating, this last month, but he's too afraid to ask and ruin it, or, even, make it official, if he's being honest. They're moving forward and that's great, but the fear is not entirely about having a relationship with her, it's about having a relationship at all; especially if it's of a sexual nature. Not to say he wouldn't or can't, it's just that he's not sure they're ready for that either.

Gillian drops her hand on his upper arm and smoothes her fingers over the material of his shirt. Still in button downs. Most of the time. Tonight, he's in a pullover t-shirt and she was appropriately impressed when he pointed it out to her. It's the little things; baby steps forward, but still, moving forward. "Hey did I tell you?" Cal starts, thinking of something else. "I text Emily earlier. With my right thumb."

"Wow," Gillian responds immediately with another warm smile.

"It was short," Cal admits.

"Still impressive," Gillian tells him softly. She shifts so she's closer, so she can lean into him and she presses her mouth against his. Cal goes still, the longing battling out with the repulsion; it's not her, specifically, he suspects he'd feel the same if it was any woman. He thinks about it less now, but he still thinks about it. About what Cowely did. Cal forces himself to react; he doesn't want Gillian to think he doesn't want her; he does. He doesn't want her to think it's about Cowely; it shouldn't be. He kisses her back, softly, a little carefully and brings a hand to her elbow, anchoring her in place, against him.

Gillian threads a hand into his hair, around the base of his skull and kisses him again, careful exploration. It's not the first time they've kissed, but it still feels a little new. It still makes Cal feel warm inside. But he often leaves it to her to make the first move; he doesn't want to push, and he doesn't want to be rejected. Gillian's other hand is against the collar of his shirt, fingers against his skin. He lets his right hand slide around her waist and she doesn't shiver or shudder or pull away from him; she never has.

Cal pulls her in closer still, so she's just about in his lap. She's pressing against his chest and thighs and it's nice. He's thought this a thousand and one times but he also gets that no matter how many times he's played it out in his mind, he never ever factored in the idea that he would be taking this as slow as Gillian wanted because she had been sexually assaulted. Nope. Not even close. They are so doing this at her pace. He's ok with that. And that's the first time he's admitted she was assaulted; he hasn't used those words before.

Gillian kisses so damn good; he loves her mouth. He also loves how she smells and her skin; he turns his head to kiss along her jaw a little, but she doesn't give him much room. Her breath fans out along his cheek and then she's murmuring, "Can we go upstairs?"

Cal stops with his lips against her skin and has to take a second to process. She wants to go upstairs with him. That's something pretty damn incredible. "If you want to," he manages in return, hoping that he doesn't sound too desperate. Just in case she says no at some point. He really is ok with her saying no. He suspects she will. She hasn't suggested they go upstairs before.

Gillian pulls back and gives him a smile, her eyes bright in the light but he sees a flicker of something. She takes his hand anyway, left hand, and tugs him up from the couch. Cal goes with her easily. They put out the few lights still on and head up the stairs from the kitchen. Gillian moves purposefully, only turning at his bedroom door to kiss him again. Cal goes with it, but doesn't let himself get lost. It would be easy, but he wants to remain in control; he wants to make this safe for her. She trusts so he has to deliver. He gets it, someone else tried to force her; this has to come from her and if there's a chance she's not quite ready, then Cal wants to be in control of himself.

Gillian pulls him forward into the bedroom and they make their way over to the bed, still kissing, still close, sensing their way mostly. They've been kissing in the last month, a lot of kissing, and some touching; she doesn't seem shy about trying to take his clothes off. It just doesn't often go the other way. Little steps forward; a few back. Now, Gillian tugs his shirt off and undoes his pants, but she doesn't touch him there. Cal reaches for her hips but it's her own hands that take her shirt off her body. "Get in bed Cal," she tells him and he turns away to comply. He kicks away his trousers and kneels his way across the mattress. Gillian slips under the covers behind him and it's not until she's pressing up against him that he realises what she's wearing, or not wearing.

There is _a lot_ of skin but he does find underwear while they kiss and he slowly and carefully feels over her body; the safe places. Her skin is warm and soft and with her lying so close, her chest just about against his, there's not a lot of room for his hand anyway, and he can smell her with every delightful breath. It's mostly soap, he suspects, but there's something spicy under there too, something sexy, something that makes him feel warm inside. She touches him too, explores his body, her fingers lighting easily over the scars on his shoulder, knowing where they are without having to see.

Gillian kisses him again and it's a slow exploration of his mouth that makes his heart beat rise. His hand slips lower without him thinking about it and when he realises, he stops. But Gillian doesn't seem to mind, she shifts a little so his hand is more on her thigh than her hip now and then she's shifting that too so it's obvious that she's giving him the okay; she's encouraging.

Cal slides his hand over her skin, and inches his fingers up the inside her thigh and hesitates. Or waits. He knows this will take time and he won't rush it. He's hyper aware of her body beneath his hand, extra concentration because that's his right hand and, sometimes, his fingers still feel numb. When they lay down he ended up on her right so it would just be too weird to use his left hand and even though in the last few months he's gotten rather proficient at left handed life, there is no way he is going to chance it in this situation. Gillian's hand shifts to grip at his forearm but she doesn't stop him so he inches up a little bit more and he's about halfway now.

He's not even necessarily trying to turn her on, he'd be doing it differently if was, he's happy just to explore a bit more than he's had before. He can tell from the temperature of her skin, the tenseness of her muscles, that she's not quite there, and so he suspects it's just a matter of time before she tells him 'no' and he's not surprised. He's expecting it, waiting, seeing how far she will let him go, how much improvement she has made in this last month; he's made progress too.

Cal smoothes his thumb back and forth against her thigh, beneath the blanket, in his bed. Damn he wants her. He really does, and being a good boy really isn't much of his forte. He can hear Gillian breathing, faster than normal, and he knows she wants him too, but she can't quite get there. It's too soon or she's not ready or maybe it's just not enough. It doesn't matter. She still says 'no', still asks him to stop, her hand clamping down around his wrist and he slowly pulls away from her. And then she is sorry.

"What for?" Cal asks her on a breath, curious more than surprised. He suspects. He shifts the incriminating hand to her waist, gives a little squeeze, tells her it's ok.

Gillian presses her forehead against his chin, guessing in the dark. "It's not fair," she tries and she doesn't want to say it.

Cal doesn't want to make her. "I know," his voice is purposefully soft and steady. He pauses. "Sex isn't everything Gill. I loved you without it and I still love you now. Like this. It will take time, that's all." Cal shifts further, pulling Gillian into an embrace, a proper embrace with his hand against her spine and she feels so small, so vulnerable. She doesn't have to say it, she can still feel Cowely against her skin. He's doing better with the images too but he's not quite there. He tries and she tries and really, the only thing they can do is keep moving forward, even if it's just a few inches more every day.

Because that is better than going around in circles.

**PJ**

When Cal wakes up Gillian is gone and for a second, disappointment shocks through him. He wonders if he did something wrong last night and maybe doesn't even know about it; maybe he read it wrong. But then he hears something clatter in the bathroom and hopes that it's her. She's stayed over before, but never snuck out. Cal is thinking about going to investigate when he hears the water stop in the shower and stays where he is; what if it's his daughter? That would be bloody awkward. So he waits and Gillian comes in five minutes later, so apart from cracking his eyes to check it is her, he keeps still and his lids shut while he listens to her getting dressed. She gets naked right in front of him, the towel drops to the carpet, and he can't even bring himself to look. He wants to look, but after last night, he's not sure he should, though he figures her dropping the towel very well maybe invitation enough, but he just... it maybe doesn't feel right to leer from the bed.

But at least the image of her naked is much easier to deal with than the idea of trying to put his hand between her legs. He thinks he could handle trying to make love to her if he focuses on that instead.

"Cal?"

He flinches hard, totally gives himself away. "Yeah?" He whispers back.

"I'm going to make breakfast," which is code for 'come downstairs with me now'.

"Ok," he agrees. He waits for her to leave and then sits up, picks the sleep from his eyes and throws back the covers. He heads for the bathroom, finds that thinking about her naked is a bit more exciting than he had anticipated, and brushes his teeth. He heads back to the bedroom for clothes, because he's still only in his underwear. When he finally gets downstairs he finds Gillian is wearing one of his pyjama shirts, which really doesn't cover much, that he's never worn, and he's in the bottoms; domesticated matching. He thinks it should be funny, but really, it wouldn't do to laugh when she's traipsing around his kitchen with her ass hanging out, making breakfast and coffee. She's too cute. Too sexy. Too much really.

Before Cal thinks about it excessively, he's crossed to her and put his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss against her neck, and damn he loves her, so much, it wells up in him for a moment. She goes still in his arms but he can feel her cheek bunch in a smile and it's only afterwards that he thinks that he might have been too forward, too much, but she doesn't shy away from him, or recoil, flinch or stiffen, she smiles and she turns to put her arms around his neck, places a kiss on his mouth; she smells like mint.

"Coffee," she murmurs.

Cal steps back, pleased that it wasn't weird this morning, that they're still making progress forward, even after a little step back last night in the darkness of his bedroom. "You have to show me how you make it," Gillian tells him.

"Never," Cal responds on a mumble, his mind wanting to go to dark places and he refusing. "It's a secret."

"It's coffee, how can it be a secret?" Gillian counters.

"If it keeps you coming around, then it is," Cal retorts, going to the cupboard. He reaches for the bag and finds Gillian has already cleaned the pot for him. She leans against the bench and watches him anyway but he cheats a little and doesn't tell her that he adds sugar to the filter before letting the water go through usually. He'll try to add it when she's distracted, otherwise, he's going to have to tell her it was a fluke. Every other time.

"You know, I feel bad," Gillian speaks again, her voice soft and careful and Cal is instantly on alert. He feels a twinge in his shoulder and wonders what that is about; a warning?

"Oh?" He looks over at her, trying so hard not to do anything until he knows what it is he's dealing with.

Gillian steps towards him, her bare feet against the tiles of his kitchen floor. "You help me with my things... but I don't get to help you with yours."

Cal suspects there's more to it than that, with the words she has chosen, like there might be an accusation in there and he thinks he knows what it is. But he'll play her game because a part of him actually already believes she's right. He leans a hip against the bench, resists the urge to fold his arms against his stomach; block her out. "Oh yeah?" He raises an eyebrow, and despite it, he does sound accusing.

Gillian doesn't back down though and this is what he likes about her. "When are you coming back to work?" She changes tact.

Cal stares at her and she stares on back, actually wanting an answer, not just pointing out that it's been two months and he has still not set foot in the building. It's been too easy to just stay away. "I've been recovering."

"I know," she smiles and steps closer, a hand reaching up to his shoulder, the broken one. "The scars look so much better now."

Cal tries not to shrug out of her touch but he doesn't quite manage it and she drops her hand after a second. "Have you gone in?" But he doesn't mean to work, he knows she's been in to check up on The Lightman Group; manages most of the week now. He means his study, his office, that part of the building; the scene of the crime. Cal gives an incline of his head and Gillian looks away.

"No," she admits softly. "Can't quite get there," her eyes are sad on his when they meet again.

"Want me to go with you?" Cal turns it on her and he's always done so much better when it's not about him.

"Yes," Gillian admits. "Together." Because Gillian's always done so much better when it's the two of them, not just her. Which is interesting, because how would it have been if Cal had not been there that night with her and Cowely? "It's lonely at work without you," Gillian tries and it's almost too much for Cal; he likes independence. But he knows she's just trying to coax him and part of him has already made up his mind to go, he's just stalling because he's stubborn.

"Could always get you a goldfish."

"A goldfish?" Gillian asks, her voice dropping into normal surprise.

"For your desk," Cal tries. The coffee starts to filter and the aroma hits his nostrils, making the salivation in his mouth kick it up a notch. "Keep you company."

"What good is a goldfish going to do me? I can't pet a goldfish."

"Can't have a cat or dog at the office. A hamster then," Cal counters.

Gillian turns up her nose in disgust. "A hamster? What a cliché. I'd rather have a guinea pig."

Cal gives her a bizarre expression. "A guinea pig? Aren't those things meant to be dirty?"

"Not if you look after them," Gillian tells him airily. She turns away for the cupboard on the other side of the sink, takes down too mugs, the shirt riding up so high that if Cal tilts his head, he's pretty sure he can see that she has underwear on. So he goes to the fridge for cream; if he's going to drink coffee, he's going to drink it properly.

"An attack guinea pig then," Cal muses.

Gillian giggles. "Perfect."

Cal shakes his head at himself, follows her to the coffee pot and pours cream into both the mugs, giving her a little bit more than him; what he's thinking about is getting her a gun. He takes the dairy back to the fridge and, when he turns back, Gillian is watching the brown liquid drip out of the machine. She is right though. He does need to go back to work. It has been two months and his shoulder is doing just fine. He doesn't want to, but he knows he has to; she's done so much, it wouldn't hurt him to do a little as well. He steps up behind her again and wraps his arm around her waist, re-enacting the smooth move of before and he's still pleased to find that she's still not uncomfortable with him doing it.

**PJ**

Gillian is trying not to laugh at the image of a mutant guinea pig with fangs and claws, it's fur sticking out crazy, the size of a dog, barking at intruders at her office door, when Cal comes in. Cal. Comes in. To her office. She almost gets to her feet, stand at attention, such is she wowed by his presence. It's been two months and she was just saying that morning that maybe it was time. He sighed at her but didn't commit to anything; typical Cal, and then here he was. She figured he'd take some time to think about it; he might even have just ignored her. She wanted to make a crack about him actually listening to her for once but the expression in his eyes has her stilling her tongue; he looks uneasy. But he forces a greeting and so she politely says hello. He moves to sit opposite her desk and she realises the time; it's late.

She wonders if he's come to take her home, which is still odd, seeing as he's never done it before now, but his eyes are so heavy on hers and she knows there's something more. "Are you ok?" She asks like she has a million times before. She doesn't expect an answer, he never really gives her one but this time, he shakes his head a little.

"But let's get it over with all right?"

Over with. It. Does he mean? Oh he means his office. She had someone go in a while ago and clean. Get rid of the evidence after the police had finished. That makes her feel ill. She doesn't know what it looks like in there now and she can only hope for both of their sakes that it's not... that there isn't something so... She's not entirely sure she's ready for this either. She nods, gets to feet, notices how her knees feel a little weak. Cal mimics her but he reaches out his hand and she steps into it gratefully and he's still being strong for her even though this has to be pushing all kinds of buttons for him too; she can tell in the colour of his skin, the set of his mouth, the darkness of his eyes; the way his hand grips hers too tightly. They walk across the hallway easily enough but when they get to Cal's closed office door they both hesitate. Cal reaches out with his right hand, she's holding his left, and turns the handle, pushing it open. Honestly, she's thought about being led into his office by the hand, but that scenario, fantasy, ended with them making out on his couch, not this; never in a million years.

They go in. The blinds are open so there is enough light from the setting sun. Nothing in there has changed much; it even feels warm and lived in, like Cal hasn't even been gone for so long. But this is not the room that holds such trepidation; the study does. The sliding door is slightly open, about a foot and they approach slowly and cautiously. Gillian's grip gets tighter on Cal's hand and something settles in her stomach that feels like stone. She can feel her heart rate kick up and there is a part of her that wants to run and hide. Cal is more than an anchor; he's a tether, that stops her from blowing away from her own life.

They approach the doorway, wary, and stop before the entrance. Gillian really can't see much from where she is, almost behind Cal's shoulder. He reaches out with his right hand and pushes the door back a little more, further revealing the room. It's clean and has been tided, much to Gillian's relief. It's different standing here and looking in; she has images of the ceiling from her back and of Cal lying in a puddle of his own red, while Gillian stood with scissors in her hand. She shakes away both images, forces herself to see what is there now. The throw and the cushion are gone. The red from the floor is gone. The couch has been pushed back under the window; it doesn't look like Gillian remembers it. The whole space seems much smaller now.

She finds herself calming down. The uneasiness in her stomach eases off, even if it doesn't disappear completely, and she's glad she forced herself to do this. She keeps looking around, taking in all the details, the picture frames on the wall, the furniture, the staircase, the books; she can't see the safe, doesn't know if it's still open or what happened to Cal's gun; the police took it off him once they came in. She turns to tell Cal that it's not as bad as she thought it was going to be, being here again, seeing the room, the scene of the crime, having to deal with that instantaneous flashback, but as she sees his skin she's struck with something else. Something that feels like dread but could be fear or panic. Cal's skin is so white, he almost looks grey. It's only then that she notices how tightly he is gripping her hand, as if she could blow away in the wind; as if he is drowning and holding on for dear life. His face is stricken and distant; foreign, he doesn't look like him anymore.

"Cal," she strangles out desperately but he doesn't hear her and she has to remind herself again, that this didn't just happen to her, it happened to him too. He was shot and he dislocated his thumb and the cuts in his wrist. His road to recovery has been just as long as hers, but that doesn't mean he has been dealing with it any better than her; possibly worse. Because she is here, she's been back for a while now, but he stayed away and she suspects that just made it harder.

When Cal doesn't respond to the shake of his hand or the grip on his shoulder, the one that has scars, Gillian grabs his face, cupping his chin in the curve of her thumb as her fingers press into his cheek and her thumb rests on his jaw bone. She forcibly turns his head towards her and his eyes are wide with terror. But he seems to see her this time and he seems to take a gulp of air and kind of collapse at the same time. He turns and sits heavily on the ground, resting against the wall, his back to the study. Gillian goes with him, because he hasn't let go of her hand and she hasn't let go of him. She falls gracelessly against him, half in his lap, half on the cold floor, but she doesn't move away. She pulls him further into her, trying to embrace him, but they're tangled and a mess on his floor. He's damp beneath his shirt, button down again, because that's the equivalent of her wearing two sweatshirts after she went home from the hospital, and he presses his face against her wherever he can, half in her shoulder and half in her arm pit and he clings on.

She feels him take another big gulp and another and feels the air go in, but not come out again. He's having a panic attack. It takes a second longer to comprehend properly and when it really does sink in, that he's freaking out big time on her, she forces him away from her. "Breath out Cal," she tells him and feels him shudder. He won't meet her eyes, stares at a spot on her thigh and she can feel him shaking; gasping breaths from deep within his diaphragm, but the shiver of his leg muscles beneath her too.

"In," she instructs, waits a beat, then: "Out." And he complies, slowly at first, awkwardly, like he has little motor control over his own body, but then it evens out a little bit more and a little bit more until he seems to be getting the required amount of air and he's calmer. The heat of his skin fades and when she tilts his head up a little to see his eyes, to ask if he's ok, she can see he's crying. A shard of her heart breaks off and into the abyss and she cries with him. She wraps an arm around his shoulder and she can feel his hands settle on her properly this time, against her back and they hold each other. He's like this because of her, he was shot because of her and he was hurt because of her and she knows he is having a hard time getting the image of Cowely out of his head; it sickens the both of them. And all of that is because she defied the stupid compound guy and he came back to get revenge on her. But Cal was dragged into it and she's sorry, she's so sorry.

Cal turns his head and presses a sweet kiss against her neck. "Don't cry," he murmurs and really, if he were any sweeter, she probably wouldn't be able to cope. She doesn't get how he can be so kind to her when she did this to him. She doesn't get, though she kind of likes, how she could get completely naked in front of him, and he didn't even peek. The insecure part of her doubts his level of attention; the rational part of her thinks he's just having a tough time of it. Oh and maybe she hasn't realised how badly her being assaulted has affected him; he loves her. He loved her when Cowely was trying to rape her and she thinks it's done more damage than either of them thought. She wants him to have it though, her body, she wants him to know that she freely gives it to him; he's her choice.

"Gill?" He tries when she doesn't answer him. She nods, finds it interesting that he's comforting her again when a moment ago, he was the one falling apart. And then she kind of gets it. He's there for her, honest to god, no matter what, even when he's breaking in half but she's there for him too, she hopes, at the right times, to stop the bleeding, to plug the holes that threaten to tear him apart.

"I love you," she tries and he murmurs it back quickly, before pressing his mouth against hers. She doesn't even care that someone could walk in and see them kiss; and Cal doesn't seem to care that they could see him cry. Ria and Loker, Anna and the others, have been incredible, picking up the slack right after Cal and Gillian had been attacked. Had organised clients and at least kept the Lightman Group's head above water until Gillian got back. She never had the heart to talk to them about it, but she suspects they know all the details anyway; they're well trained in getting information out of reluctant police officers. She can't talk about it openly anyway. She can barely get the words out when she goes to see her rape counsellor; they talk around the subject but she wasn't really raped and so sometimes it doesn't feel like she belongs there. Really, the best work, the work that mattered, the work that got her moving forward again, was the work she did with Cal; staying away seemed like a good idea, but it was being near him again that was a better one. They're still figuring it out, but they're doing it together, and that completely feels right.

That night in the hospital, when he told her not to let Cowely get into her head: that was the start of it. That night she went to see him, tried to throw herself at him and he stopped her: that was her breakthrough. And last night, when they were in bed together, and his kisses were so full of love, when she still said 'no' because a lingering doubt had her running scared, and he complied immediately, like it was nothing, not a big deal at all, he didn't hate her for it: that made her feel safe again. He might not know it, but he's been everything she needed; always. She can't imagine this happening with someone else, can't imagine him not being there for her. She loves him more completely now, than she has ever loved a man she's been as physically close to as she could get. Cal's right: they haven't even made love yet, but she's so in love with him.

"I love you Cal," she tells him again and she presses her mouth against the dampness of his tears. "I'm right here. Just like you're right here, next to me. And when we go home, I want you to make love to me," she finishes in a low voice, a voice just for him. She moves back to see his eyes and they're all warmth and tenderness as they gaze steadily back at her; her stomach shivers a little. "Can you do that?"

He watches her for a moment, then nods. "I can do that," he murmurs.

**PJ**

AN: Have to give a really big thank you to you for reading and to you who reviewed, especially you, who I couldn't send a reply response to.


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